Us
by Elaine Vivian
Summary: It was all she wanted. She didn't want to believe what anyone else thought. She didn't know what would happen, but she knew one thing, at least.


**_*A/N: I wrote the majority of this not long after I wrote "Red." I finished it today. Have at it._**

* * *

Sometimes she went out and tried her luck near the bridge, or she hung outside the pub. Sometimes they forced her to stay in the house, like tonight. She hardly had a choice in meat when she was out; there was no choice inside. She took what she was given, or she was out on the streets.

Tonight, it was two men. She let herself submit to their hellish desires as she complied with their unspeakable demands. She was used to the pain, though. She felt nothing but the emptiness in her heart.

The men had left now, having had their fill of her. She redressed and assessed the damage done—bruises that were already beginning to show, more that would come tomorrow; marks from the men's hands covered her arms; her lips were red and sore from the pressure applied. It was nothing new to her, and she had had worse. She would be fine.

There were still several hours until sunlight. She decided to leave, better for her and anyone else. It wasn't like any of the customers could get much out of her anymore, not after tonight. Usually they stayed longer, anyway. So she left and went to him, climbing into his bedroom through the window.

He wasn't asleep. An oil lamp dimly lit the room. He was leaning forward, bracing himself with the dresser. His skin glistened with sweat and his breathing was heavy. He wore no shirt and his hair was a mess. She could see the huge purplish-reddish bruise forming on his stomach.

She stood by the window. "What happened to you?"

He didn't jump. He must've heard her climbing up the fire escape. He didn't even turn around. "Rough day at work."

"Do you want me to help?"

"I don't care."

She went over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face her and she could tell more than before that he was not well. She helped him over to the bed, leaving the covers off of him—he was sweating like a madman. She looked at his bruise; it was nearly vomit inducing. Even her roughest cliental never left marks like this one.

She swept the rag across his forehead, wiping away the sweat. "You shouldn't do this yourself," she whispered.

"You'se one to talk," he panted in reply.

"I… don't know what you're talking about."

He grabbed her arm suddenly and she cried out in pain. He pushed up the sleeve to reveal the bruises that coated her skin. "You think I don't notice?" he growled through clenched teeth. "You think I don't see you cringe when I touch you? How you hold your breath when I hold you? I know what you did. I ain't blind, Red. I know you still do it. I just hoped you'd stop. For the both of us."

She looked him in the eyes; her own were filled with a bitter coldness. "Without what I do, I'm homeless. Penniless. I got nothing."

"You got me."

She took it in, but barely. "You ain't enough. Jesus, Oscar! With you I may have a place to stay, but I don't got money. I'd have to keep working, and do you know how hard it is to do what I do on street business only?"

His breathing was labored. "You shouldn't be doin' it at all, Red… Christ, it ain't right!" He closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally to no avail.

"Oh, and since when did you become Mister Morality?"

"It ain't… about morality… it's about bad things happenin'… to the girl I… to my girl. It's about bad things happenin' to my girl."

The silence stung Josephine's heart. He wouldn't say it; he couldn't say it. But he did say that she was his. But as much as that should've consoled her disappointment, it didn't. It infuriated her to the point where she wanted to claw out his eyes.

"I ain't nobody's girl, Oscar Delancey," she told him in a deadly whisper. "And don't you think it for one minute. It's why I do what I do. Because that way, I am mine and mine alone. _Do_ _you_ _understand_ _that_?"

He laughed without humor and cringed at the pain it brought him. "Yeah. That's right. That's why you live in a brothel—" he spat the word "—where they don't let you leave at night; where you let 'em violate every inch of your body; where they kill you slowly inside an' out an' _you enjoy it_."

A look of horrified bewilderment crossed her face. "You take that back, you bastard."

"I ain't takin' nothin' back that I say is true. An' I say it is." He rose from the bed, ignoring the pain and making his way onto his feet to stand facing her. "You'se a whore, Red. An' you enjoy it."

Tears welled up in her eyes and she began to tremble. "You're a liar," she whimpered. "You're wrong. You don't know. You don't know any of it."

"Get out."

"No."

"Get. Out. Now."

A tear escaped Josephine's eye. "I hope you burn in hell."

"If I do, I'se gonna see you there with me."

Oscar walked slowly to the kitchen after managing a few hours of sleep that night. His brother was already in there, leaning against the doorframe, eating an apple. "Rough night?" Morris asked, raising his eyebrows sardonically.

Oscar pushed past his brother and opened a cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and, uncorking it, took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Do me a favor, little brother."

"Yeah, what?"

"Don't fall in love with a whore."

She did not know where else to go. She was sixteen years old with no guardian, a brother who wouldn't acknowledge her though she wouldn't admit to their relationship either, no home and no money. So she dressed as modestly as she could, plaited her hair, and walked the streets with her hands by her side and her eyes toward the ground. She stopped at the large doors of the cathedral, unsure of whether or not to go in. But she hadn't made it this far to give up. It was too late to turn back now.

She pushed into the huge hall; its ornate décor stunned her upon first sight. _This must be what heaven looks like_. _Or at least something close to it_.

A young priest walked into the mostly empty hall and startled when he saw Josephine standing there. He composed himself and smiled sweetly at her. "You look troubled, child. Is there anything that we can do for you here?"

She was almost taken in by the softness of it all, but then she remembered why she was here. "I ain't here to confess my sins. I just… I need some help."

"That is what we are here for, child. If you do not wish to confess your sins, then please, I would like you to walk with me and tell me what is troubling you."

She took another look at the priest. He was young, though not too young. She decided. "Fine. Just… try not to judge me."

"It's not my place," said the young priest. "Only the Lord can judge you." He beckoned her to follow him as he walked. She did.

"Tell me what grieves your heart."

Josephine sighed. "I wish it was more simple."

"Do your best."

"I do things that I'm not proud of. These things that I do hurt me, but I'll never be able to stop unless someone begins to care for me. No one cares, though. Not my brother, not the boy who I thought loved me, not anyone."

"Ah, but you forget, child, that God cares for all souls."

"It's not all about God, alright?" she nearly shouted. She calmed when she saw the priest's taken-aback look. "I… I'm sorry. But it's not. It's about the fact that I chose to be what I am. God didn't choose that for me. My brother chose to get himself thrown in jail and I've hardly seen him since he got out. We ain't close. But if I had a choice, I'd choose for us to be a family. But that's not something that God chose, and it's not something I get to choose, either. And you know what? God didn't choose who I fell in love with. My heart did that all on its own, my stupid heart! And now he doesn't love me and neither does my brother and hell, I bet God doesn't either!"

The priest stopped walking, and Josephine followed suit. "It seems that though you believe God did not choose your path, neither did you. It was others' actions that led you to your current place."

"I still started it with deciding to be what I am."

"Ah, but I don't believe that. There is a reason for every action that happens in the world, whether it is divine or not. You are merely a single thread in the tapestry that makes up the lives of others. But without that thread, that tapestry is not complete. It is a minimal yet crucial part to making the image portrayed one of accuracy and beauty."

"Do you _really_ think that?"

"I do. I also believe that your brother does care, or at least wants to. But he does not know how."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because, _Miss Kelly_, I was present at both you and your brother's christenings. I am a bit surprised that you do not remember me. But then, your family stopped coming to mass when you were quite small. It's been at least eight years for you, I'd say."

"I… I don't remember you at all, I'm sorry."

The priest smiled. "It does not bother me. Now, listen to the rest of what I have to say, and then you can make up your mind whether or not you are uncared for. Your brother does love you, and he cares about you. But I know that he's only now relearning the concept of love. He also does not know who you are beyond the child self he last truly interacted with, yes? I thought so. He came to see me recently, I'll tell you that. I cannot tell you what he said, for he said it with full confidence in me. But he wants to find you. He wants to be a family once again.

"And the boy you spoke of, whom you love—I do not question it for I can see it in you—look through his eyes. See what he sees. If it is too painful, then love him the same as you always have. Show him your heart and tell him his worth. A man is worth more than just his accomplishments, his age, and what we humans see on the outside. And though I sense your belief in God's motives is doubtful, I hope that you may try to look at this boy through heaven's eyes, for whatever he has done, he deserves that at least. As you have asked me not to judge you, do not judge him. If he has done wrong and if he truly loves you—which I suspect he does—he will judge himself."

"You want me to accept him?"

"His life should be seen through heaven's eyes, Josephine Kelly. Although some in our sect would care to disbelieve it, I believe that heaven accepts all of those who wish to be accepted. So yes, I want you to be like heaven and accept him."

Josephine smiled at the priest. "You really should find a different church."

The priest shrugged. "All in good time, child. But I bade you now go and make amends with the boy. And perhaps, one day, find your brother and love him again."

She nodded. "I will… thank you. You don't know what you've done for me." She smiled again and ran out of the cathedral.

The priest smiled after her. "Ah, but my child, I do."

"Oscar! Oscar Delancey, come out here right now!"

Oscar looked out his window and saw Josephine standing in the alley behind his building. She was looking up at his room and waiting for him to come out. But god, what was she wearing? She looked like she was… sixteen. Well, save for the hair in its girlish plaits, but still. He'd never realized how young she really was until he saw her like that.

He wasn't going to go down to her. He wasn't that stupid. He'd done enough the previous night, and he wasn't keen on making it any worse than it was. Suppose she told her brother! Oh, Jack would kill him, sure as hell. He was probably waiting for Oscar down there right now with a bunch of his stupid newsies, ready to roll heads.

"Why should I?" he shouted back down. "We's over, Red. I thought I made that clear last night."

The Red he knew came out just then. She stood tall with her chin up, her face expression. "You'll come down right now, Delancey. You ain't getting out of this that easy."

She was right, of course. He would come down. He dressed and climbed down the fire escape, landing in front of her. "So. What do you—"

She grabbed his collar and kissed him square on the mouth. He made a noise of surprise—something that never happened—as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He thought about pulling away, but he wasn't about to throw away the last chance he had with her.

She wasn't hungry. She wasn't wanting of him. There was nothing lustful or heavy about this kiss. And Oscar found that he didn't want to hitch up her skirts and press her against a wall as he pressed up to her. He wanted to kiss her. He wound his arms around her waist and lifted her up off the ground, twirling her around and around and setting her down gently, breaking the kiss.

He looked at her incredulously. "What'd you do to me?"

She looked at him. "I don't care what you've done in the past. I don't know what goes on in that head of yours and I don't pretend to. But I know that you love me. I know it. I don't believe what anybody else might say about that. I just want us to be… us."

He nodded a little bit, brow furrowed and lips attempting a smile. "Yeah… maybe. We can be that, I guess."

She took his face in her hands and kissed him. She then brought her lips to his ear. "I know we can."


End file.
